The Red Windmill
by Sandra Athrenael
Summary: Modern Day American Moulin Rouge. I know this has been done before but mine is different. Chris, a struggling writer, goes to the famed Club "THE RED WINDMILL" for his bachelor party and falls in love with the cheif hooker, Sarah. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**The Red Windmill**

**Summary: Modern Day/American Moulin Rouge. Christopher, a struggling writer has his bachelor party at the famed nightclub "The Red Windmill" and falls in love with the hooker Sarah, who's looking to become an actress. I'm going to change a whole lot of the story line so it won't be all that much like the movie. Please read/review.**

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A loud alarm jerked Christopher James out of his restless, yet much needed sleep. Grumbling with a newly sore throat, he rubbed his eyes and slowly ran his fingers over his scratchy face. "Dear god I need to shave." He thought aloud, clearing his throat.

Painstakingly he pulled a pen from his tangled hair. It must have gotten stuck there when he fell asleep over his writing yet again. An empty Heineken keg can lay next to his hand, giving the area a stale beer smell. He shoved it off his helplessly cluttered workspace where it made a loud crash on the floor. Not rising from his threadbare office chair, he reached over his crappy typewriter and grasped a small picture frame. He gently tugged it out of the pool of dried wax it was sitting in and brought it to his face.

Just looking at the picture brought tears to his eyes. He traced the face in the picture with his thumb and wept silently, burying his face in his hands. After some time he cast the frame aside and put a fresh piece of paper in his typewriter. The thought of saving money for a computer has crossed his mind often, but he had no willpower to do it. He was worse than dead. He brought the typewriter to its writing position and began typing, the clicking of the keys giving him a good sense of familiarity.

"It all started about one year ago..." He narrated aloud, typing feverishly to keep up with his whirring thoughts. "I was engaged in an arranged marriage, unhappy and alone, looking to break free. I was a strong believer in true love, but I hadn't found mine yet. But that all changed the night of my bachelor party..."

"Why the long face Ba-che-lor!" T.J. Laurence said loudly, slapping his friend Chris on the back and taking a long swig of his Sam Adams.

"You know for a guy who's only 5'1" you give a pretty mean slap." Christopher James retorted. "And you know why I'm upset. In one month I'm getting married to a woman I am by no means in love with. What could possibly be worse than that?"

"Stop being such a drama Queen, Chris! She's filthy rich...you can have everything you want!" Christopher lowered his eyes.

"Not everything. Money can't buy love." He muttered.

"You pose a pretty miserable case, my man, but boy is that going to change once you find out where I booked your bachelor party!"

Chris furrowed his brow. "Where?" He looked up from his notepad and placed his pencil down on the table.

"Take a guess." T.J. said happily, taking another gulp of beer and burping loudly.

"I dunno...Hooters?" He said flatly.

T.J. made a face. "No way, Hooters is for high school-I'm talking big. We're goin' to the Red Windmill baby!"

"I guess that's cool." Chris said, turning back to his writing.

"COOL!" T.J. shouted, making Chris jump and send his pencil flying. "It's way more than cool...It's HOT! And, I made a few special arrangements with my man Marty and I got you the best hooker in the joint." Chris made a face of utter horror. "No need to thank me...your happiness is enough." T.J put his hands up and smiled.

"A-a hooker?" Chris stuttered.

"Yeah man, what'd you think they had there, tango dancing?" T.J snorted, spraying beer all over Chris's shirt, who quickly jumped up and began cleaning it vigorously. "Come on Chris, what's the big deal? You get drunk, you get high, you have a good laugh and its all on me-none of your money involved. Don't tell me you were planning on staying a virgin until marriage?!" He snorted again, but Chris jumped out of the way.

Chris cleared his throat anxiously.

"You WERE planning on waiting, weren't you? Well, that's all going to change tonight, let me tell you, cuz once you get a few drinks in your system, maybe a joint or two, she'll have you in bed and begging before you can say 'Abstinence.'.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Plus, you said you needed a job, right?"

"How does sleeping with a hooker at my bachelor party help me get out of unemployment?" Chris asked in a rushed whisper.

"Well," T.J. said, leaning in so his face was inches away from Chris's. "Sarah is not only a wonderful-and might I add very expensive-hooker, she is also a wannabe actress.

"So?" He still wasn't convinced.

"So! So! You DARE question me? So this means you can get major dibbs on writing the play!"

Now Chris was so confused his head was spinning. "What play?"

"What play!? Your naiveté is painful, haven't you heard? The owner of the Red Windmill wants to open up a theatre next door to the club and he's looking for playwrights. BINGO! If you sleep with her AND read her one of your poems or something, you're practically guaranteed the job!"

Chris, who had noticeably perked up at the word "playwrights" was now looking skeptical.

"You think I have a change at the job?" He asked softly.

"Dude, its already yours!" T.J exclaimed, hiccupping loudly.

Chris laughed. "Ok, I'll do it." T.J slapped his again.

"Now there's a good man."

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**a/n: Now I know that was almost parallel to Moulin Rouge but trust me it wont be later on. Please review. I'm not updating till I get 5 reviews. So click the button!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Red Windmill**

**Chapter 2**

Chris stared out the cab's window, his forehead pressed up against the glass. A light drizzle was coming down just hard enough to cover the windows with tiny beads of water that raced each other down the pane.

Chris fiddled with the buttons on his trench coat, sighing dejectedly. T.J. sat beside him, singing loudly to "Take My Breath Away", and gesticulating wildly.

"Do you ever shut up?" Chris snapped, alarmed at his own terseness.

"Oh, nervous, are we?" T.J. ridiculed, halting his off-key wailing.

"No." Chris shot back, though it was obvious that he was lying.

"Don't worry about it man, you'll be so wasted you wont even know what's going on."

"That's what I'm worried about." Chris muttered under his breath. Luckily T.J. hadn't heard him and went back to belting out Berlin.

Chris rubbed his forehead where it had been stuck to the glass and buried his face in his hands, running them up slowly through his hair. He sucked air in through his teeth and released it through his nose. The cab drew to a halt and the tired skidded on the wet tar.

T.J. reached over and dragged Christopher out of the cab. He threw the driver a fifty and with a wink and click of the tongue he said, "Keep the change." Chris shrugged his shoulders to push his coat up higher, covering his neck. The light rain was covering his skin with a thin sheet of dampness. He looked up at the bright sign of the Red Windmill, its huge electric lights blurring in the rain. There was already a long line forming outside the club, and a loud, pulsing techno beat emanating from inside.

T.J. pushed Chris from behind so he tripped onto the street. "Hurry up stupid-I've got instant access to the front of the line!" Chris begrudgingly jogged after T.J. tot he front. The bouncer was a mean looking man, about 6' 4" and very beefy. He wore a tight black no sleeved shirt and had large tattoos on his biceps. He would have been intimidating to almost anyone, but not T.J.

He strolled right up to the bouncer and smiled widely. "Party of 15 under the name "JAMES"." He said with a fake-not to mention very poor-British accent. "The rest are coming later." He said casually when the bouncer looked at them strangely. Then to Chris in a hushed whisper he hissed, "I got you the best of the best buddy." Chris rolled his eyes and looked down at the spotted pavement. The bouncer grunted and checked his clipboard, flipping through dozens o papers until he paused on one.

"James, Christopher. VIP room....ID?" He said in a low, gravelly voice. Chris thrust his ID into the bouncer's meaty hand. The man put it under a flashlight and examined it with his beady, hawk like eyes. "You're ok." He announced at last, handing Chris his ID card. Chris jammed it back into his pocket and continued looking down. When T.J. had at last received the stamp of approval, they were ushered into a private door and down a wide, lavishly decorated hallway. Chris could hear the pulsing music from the other side of the wall, stubbornly deciding that it was too loud.

"The rest of the guys will LOVE this!" T.J. said excitedly, surveying the high ceilings and fancy walls. The woman who was leading them pointed in the direction of two large wooden doors. She opened them and allowed Chris and T.J. to walk inside. Chris stared in awe, feeling like royalty. The VIP room was ENORMOUS, and the walls were covered in a red, pillow-like material. T.J. bent down and ran his fingers over the wall to wall black carpeting.

"Velvet." He whispered, standing up again. There was a large circular sectional leather sofa in the middle of the room, with chenille throws on the arms. In every corner of the room there were perfectly placed curtains pinned to the ceiling and underneath them, small glass tables with large bowls full of condoms. The implication made Chris slightly queasy.

"I expect there will be more of you coming?" The woman asked, snapping the two awe-struck men out of their daze.

"Yes." T.J. said, closing the door. Chris barely had time to yell "thank you!" before it slammed in her face.

Chris scanned the room again, and looked at T.J. He was fairly well off, but he was far from rich. "How did you afford all this?" Chris asked, completely disregarding all politeness.

"I have connections." T.J. said sneakily, falling back onto the couch and closing his eyes. Chris's eyes wandered to a hallway full of doors off of their enormous room. Most likely bedrooms.

"Connections?" He asked T.J. turning around after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah, dude, connections." T.J.'s voice was slightly slurred and he was holding a glass of some greenish liquid. "Whoa, dude, they serve Absinthe here! That's like, illegal or something!" His voice cracked and he downed the rest of his drink.

Chris rolled his eyes and sat down, fidgeting uncomfortably. Moments later, he heard voices nearing the door, and his friends entered, talking loudly.

"Chris!" One of them shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "How's the party so far! VIP room baby!" His friend slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder and jumped onto the couch, flinging his hat across the room.

"Where are the hookers? I want some action!" Another guy yelled.

"Keep your pants on for just a few more minutes gentlemen, they're coming." T.J. slurred, walking crookedly over to them.

"Dude, how many shots of Vodka did you have?" A guy in a Yankees hat asked.

"Only three, Jake, but not of vodka....ABSINTHE!!!!!" He held up a full glass, some liquid spilling out. Then he lowered it to his mouth and finished the whole thing. "Make that-hic-four." He said, searching in his pocket for a cigarette lighter.

Before anyone could utter another word, the wall directly in front of them opened to reveal 15 posed stripper/hookers, one for each guy. Chris surveyed all of them, but his eyes stopped on the woman in the middle of the group. She had obviously natural red hair that curled gently around her shoulders, glittering with implanted rhinestones and sparkles. She was wearing a lacy black bodice and a matching thong. About halfway up her long legs were black suede boots with a 6-inch heel. A few men whistled as the hookers swayed their hips, slowly making their way over.

Chris's pulse raced as the red-head stopped in front of him. "So are you the lucky guy?" She said seductively, running her fingers through his hair. He gulped, his throat suddenly very dry.

"Y-yes." He whispered.

"Well come on then." She grabbed his hand and began leading him to one of the bedrooms. Chris tried to drag his feet, his mind racing, working up any way to slow her down.

Their bedroom had a large four poster bed in the center, a black and red velvet canopy hanging loosely from the top. The walls were once again cushioned with same pillow material as the main room, but this time in gold. The floor was polished wood with an Oriental rug near the foot of the bed. The bed sheets on the large King-size bed were pitch black.

Chris fumbled in his pocket for the crumpled poem he had stuffed in it before they left the house. Maybe if he read it now, he wouldn't have to sleep with her, and T.J. might even get his money back. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with her, he just didn't want his first time to be with a hooker at his bachelor party. But he also didn't want it to be with a woman he didn't love on his wedding night, so maybe it made no difference. But something still didn't feel right. Beads of sweat began to gather at the edge of his hairline as he grew more and more nervous.

"Oh loverboy...you ready?" She called from the bed. He cleared his throat.

"D-do you want me to read you a poem first?" He could have kicked himself, he sounded so stupid.

She smiled seductively. "Ooh..."poetry"...yes, that's what I want, naughty words." Chris was confused, but anything to delay they actual sex was good enough.

"Um, alright." He pulled the wrinkly paper from his pocket, unfolding it with shaking hands. "um..." He started, clearing his throat again.

"Are you going to come over here or not?" She called from behind a velvet curtain. Cautiously, Chris inched over tot he bed, sitting on the edge of the sheets. Just when he was about to read, he felt two hands wrap around him and begin undoing his shirt. He shot up and turned around, gasping when he saw the woman.

"S-sarah!" He sputtered, finally remembering the name T.J. had mentioned to him before. "Y-you're not wearing anything!" His voice was unnaturally high. Quickly he unbuttoned his shirt and held it out in front of her, blocking his view.

"Finally we're getting somewhere." Sarah whispered, getting up off the bed. Chris backed further away.

"P-put it on or something!" He yelled, shaking the shirt and backing further away. She reached out and took the shirt from him. He sighed with relief but yelped when she threw it to the floor.

Chris put his hand in front of his face and stumbled backwards, falling into a large circular chair. Before he could move, Sarah was on top op of him, gyrating her hips.

"Let's hear those words...speak to me." She demanded in a throaty whisper, clawing at his undershirt.

"Alright!" He yelled, pushing her off him and stumbling across the room and re-zipping his fly. He unraveled the paper, but before he could read, Sarah burst out laughing.

"You meant REAL poetry!" She choked out, laughing hysterically. Chris made a smug face.

"Of course I mean "real poetry"!" He said indignantly. Sarah stopped laughing and looked up.

"But why? You're friend bought you the best hooker AND the VIP room, and all you want to do is read poetry?" She snorted.

Chris's ears burned as he felt his face grow hot. "Um...my-my friend said that your manager was...um, looking for playwrights, and I wondered if he could give me the job." Sarah's face lit up.

"You write plays?" She asked hopefully.

"I write all kinds of things, plays being one of them, yes." He answered, turning to face her but remembering that she was naked and turning quickly away.

"I want to be an actress...but, well..." She pulled a blanket up around her. "It's alright, I'm covered now." She said exasperatedly.

Chris turned, relieved, and sat down on the foot of the bed. "Do you think he would give me the job?" He asked.

"I dunno. I hope so...you seem very talented." She said softly, smiling. Chris was unable to breath for a split second when he saw her smile.

Sarah stood up and Chris shielded his eyes as she put on his shirt, buttoning the buttons all the way to the top. "Let's go ask him." She announced.

"What, now?" He asked stupidly.

"Yes now...let's go." She led him out of the room and down the hallway. "I don 't think your friends will miss you too much." She noted, smiling. Chris kept his mouth shut for fear of saying something terribly stupid. Sarah stopped short when they reached a door off the VIP room that said "Mr. Harry Z. Idler" and reached for the doorknob.

"I must warn you that Harry's a but eccentric, but don 't let that scare you, he's really quite a nice guy." She put her hand up and knocked four times against the wood.

For a moment there was no sound from the other end, and Chris felt disappointed, but his spirits lifted immensely when a faint, "Come in, Cherub." Sounded from the other side.

Sarah turned the knob, and the door opened.

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**A/n: Cliffie! Hahaha. I know a real guy wouldn't be like Chris, but I wanted to uphold the sincere naivete that Christian had in the movie so there you go. More when I have 10 reviews or more.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Red Windmill**

**A/n: sorry this took so long....I saw swamped to my knees with stuff, and then fanfiction wasn't working...well, I hope you enjoy.**

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**Chapter 3**

Sarah turned the doorknob and faced Chris. "Good luck." She whispered, flashing another smile. Chris gulped and followed her inside.

The office was circular and directly in the center was a large mahogany desk. Spread out below it was a white fur rug that could have easily been 10 feet around. The walls were beige with a gold trim by the ceiling. Hanging on the walls were framed pictures of what Chris imagined were all the hookers, and one or two awards worked their way into the display as well. The ceiling was painted with an intricate scene of angels and a chandelier hung from about the center, its crystals making small rainbows on the wall. The eye catcher of the room, though, was an enormous, red leather chair, the front facing away from them. It was outlined by gold and brushed to look antique.

"Harry, I've got someone here you might like." Sarah said loudly, smiling.

"I knew it was you, Cherub." Chris glanced at the angels on the ceiling. The voice came from the turned chair. "Come, sit down, let's talk." Sarah took Chris by the hand and ushered him to sit down in one of the two black leather chairs seated directly in front of the large desk.

The huge red chair swiveled a bit, and then turned completely, so that its owner was now facing them. Chris had assumed that Harry was a mysterious, dark man, from the way he was positioned earlier, but that couldn't have been a more wrong assumption. Harry Z. Idler was a large man in a pink Giorgio Armani suit. His eyes were constantly wide, and he wore a considerable amount of rouge for a man. Chris had a slight feeling that Harry was a drag queen in his spare time.

"This is Chris." Sarah announced, showing him off as if he were on display. Harry looked him over, seeming to take in every detail. Chris felt his face grow warm as Harry's eyes stopped for a minute on his crotch.

"Cherub, you know we aren't taking in any more male strippers, although he is quite scrumptious, I have to say." Chris squirmed as Harry put his arm over his shoulder.

"No Harry, no! Not a stripper, Chris is a writer! He wants to be the playwright for your new theater!" Mr. Idler perked up noticeably.

"A writer?" Chris nodded, trying not to laugh at Harry's ridiculous face.

"I'd like the job sir."

"Please, please, call me Harry, my boy!" He waltzed over to his desk and pulled out a large stack of wrinkled papers from one of the drawers. "No one has applied for the position..."

Chris sighed in relief.

"Except for my good friend Audrey. He's a very experienced playwright, I must admit. Chris immediately tensed again, returning to his original state of anxiety. "Did you bring any of your work with you?"

Chris nodded, extracting his poem from his pocket and smoothing it out vigorously against the side of the desk before he handed it to Harry.

"Excellent. Well, I'd best get to reading this...thank you so very much, I'll get back to you as soon as I can...now TA-TA!" He wiggled his fingers and Sarah dragged Chris out the door, closing it behind her. When the door was closed, Chris turned to Sarah.

"Do you think I have a chance at the job?" He asked nervously.

"You? I think you've already got it...I've heard that Audrey guy's work, and its not that wonderful...speaking of poetry by the way, I never got to hear that poem you know."

They were back in the room now, and Sarah was sitting at the foot of the bed. She patted the space next to her, but Chris refused.

"I have it memorized, if you still want to hear it." He said hopefully.

"Sure." She said passively.

"Alright, here it goes:

I close my eyes 

_Sine Pax_

_The night Carmine_

_Like crush-ed fruit_

_And lovers blood_

_I caress_

_The Other side of a shadow_

_Crying out...pulling in_

_Phantom Childe_

_with you._"

"That's very good" Sarah whispered after a moment or two of stunned silence.

"T-thanks." Chris stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Um...I should really be going." He glanced at his watch. "It's late."

"It's only 2:00 in the morning." Sarah argued.

"I-I know, but.... really, I should go." He inched towards the door. He really did want to stay, but something felt wrong, with him being engaged and everything. He opened the door slowly, looking at Sarah. She smiled and blew him a kiss.

In one swift motion he slammed the door closed and leaned back against it. "Jesus." He muttered, running a hand through his hair. He walked briskly to the main door, shielding his eyes from the scene in the circular VIP area, and grabbing a bucket of ice on his way out the door.

When his feet hit the sidewalk, he leaned his arm against the brick wall for support and dumped the whole bucket of ice over his head, the cool liquid of the semi-melted cubes dripping down his back. If it were scientifically possible, his skin might have emitted steam when the freezing water touched it. He shook his soaking hair and sighed, waving down a taxi.

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Back in the Red Windmill VIP owner's office, Harry Z. Idler read Chris's poem again and again. It didn't seem conceivable that a boy his age could write such beautiful poetry.

The boy, Chris, was a perfect, walking example of Orpheus, the Greek character from the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Then it hit him...that would be the base for the play! The legend of Orpheus and Eurydice...it was perfect! A harmonious love story, thwarted by evil and ended with tragedy...the perfect tear jerker, and Chris was just the boy to write it.

Harry got up quickly and walked as fast as he could to Sarah's room/lounge in the back, where only staff could venture. She was lying on a beanbag chair and popping gum in her mouth, flipping through a "Playboy" and grimacing at some of the pictures.

"Cherub...I must talk to you." She looked up and placed down her magazine.

"Anything, Harry, you know I'm listening."

"Good. You know your friend, Chris?" She nodded.

"I've chosen him to be the playwright, but I will need your help."

"I don't see what I can do, but alright." She obliged.

"The boy is quite obviously taken with you. I have a feeling that he isn't just doing this play because of his love for literature. I'll need you to pretend to fall in love with him, you know, to keep his attention from straying. At the end of the production, you'll go to him and tell him its over, and that's that. Does that sound alright with you Cherub?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Alright then, perfect. But before we carry this plan out, what's the number one rule here at the Red Windmill, chickie?"

"Never wear anything that covers your bum?" She asked jokingly.

"No, Cherub, not in the contrary. Our number one policy is NEVER fall in love with a customer, or anyone involved here at the Windmill, is that clear?"

"Crystal, Harry. Now go on, put on your dresses and leave me alone...I have to prepare to "fall in love"" She made her fingers into little quotations.

"That's my girl." He croaked, smiling widely. And with that, he floated out of the room.

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As Chris walked through his front door, the air conditioning gave him chills. All the lights were on, and there were noises coming from the kitchen.

"Hello?" He called, walking closer.

"Honey, is that you?" A high voice from the kitchen called. Then his fiancée(I think it's the two E's for the girls-if not...oh well, you know what I mean.) emerged from the hallway and rushed up to him, enveloping him in a hug.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're all wet!" She cooed, her long blonde hair tickling his nose. "And you're shivering!" She cried, noticing the Goosebumps on his arms. This kind of attention from her always made him want to roll his eyes. Ever since their parents had arranged the marriage, she was all over him, her high pitched voice giving him headaches.

Chris despised his parents now more than ever. They thought that as a writer, he would never be able to support himself, so they found the richest, most eligible girl in the city and became close friends with her parents. Everyone seemed to think the wedding was a wonderful idea. Both their parents thought it was "so adorable" how they looked together, and that their kids would be "the cutest in the world!" Just the thought made him gag slightly.

Even his friends were all for it. He constantly got remarks like, "Dude, she's one hell of a chick!" or, "Man, if I were you..."

There was no denying that she was quite pretty, but she was conceited and ditzy, and basically your stereotypical rich dumb blonde. But there was an advantage to her piles of money, and her love for him. Normally, Chris would never think of taking advantage of another person, but tonight his brain was buzzing and he knew what he had to do.

Just then, he realized she was talking to him.

"What?" He said stupidly, tuning in.

She sighed and repeated herself, "I said, did you have fun at your party, sweetheart? T.J. told me all about where you had it." Chris gulped, wondering why she wasn't at least a tiny bit upset that he had his bachelor party at a club with hookers. "...and Hooters sounds like a great, traditional place to celebrate your last month of "freedom"."

He sighed, relieved, and then he got an idea.

"Well actually, I got a job offer...to write a play."

"Oh really?" He could tell she wasn't all that thrilled. She never fully appreciated his gift in literature.

"Yes, but and the owner of the RED WINDMILL is directing and producing it. The only problem is, he needs an investor, otherwise nothing can happen."

"Isn't that the strip club, The Red Windmill?" She asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Yes, but that's not the point. I was wondering if you could...if you could perhaps lend him some money so he can make his show...he'd pay you back with the profits of course, but he needs a little push to get him started. Do you think you could do it, for me?" He asked.

At first she looked skeptical, but it didn't take long before she agreed.

"Of course, honey. Anything for you." She hugged him again, planting a kiss on his lips. Chris found himself closing his eyes and imagining that she was Sarah. He shook his head and opened his eyes.

"I'm going to bed." He muttered, trudging upstairs and changing into pajamas.

But 200 sheep and a glass of milk later, he couldn't fall asleep. His thoughts were completely occupied by _her._ Sarah. He could not stop thinking about her. The way she looked, the way she talked, everything.

And then he wondered, was she thinking about him?

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**a/n: I don't own Giorgio Armani or Playboy or any other company mentioned in this story, no money is trying to be made...yadayadayada....ok, now down to business. **

**The poem was written by my mother, you will definately see some more of her wonderful work as the story progresses. **

**You know the drill, I must have at least 20 reviews before I move on to the next chapter....which believe me, is going to be good...as is the rest of the fic. **

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**Hope you enjoy,**

** Sandra**


	4. Chapter 4

**Red Windmill**

**-Chapter 4-**

Chris stood outside T.J.'s apartment, removing his coat in the warm summer air. The door swung over and T.J. stood there, blinking in the sunlight and rubbing his head.

"What the hell?" He croaked, holding his head.

"I got the job!" Chris said excitedly, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Do you have to scream?" T.J. whined, putting his other hand on his stomach.

"I didn't I-" Chris began, but interrupted himself with a sly smile. "You have a hangover, don't you. I thought that wasn't possible!"

T.J. groaned. "There's apparently liquor I'm not immune to." He retreated inside and beckoned Chris to follow. When the door was closed, T.J. grabbed an aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

"What job-and WHISPER please." Chris made a face.

"What JOB? The job _you_ told me to go for. I got it! He called this morning." Chris plopped down on the couch and reclined with his hands behind his head. "But that's not the half of it. Sarah, that hooker you bought me-she's amazing."

T.J. smiled. "And I hate to say I told you so-the best sex in your life, right?"

Chris became instantly serious. "No." He sat up. "We didn't...um..."

"You didn't what? Please tell me you slept with her." Chris shook his head slowly. "Come on man! She cost a fortune!" He raised his voice, completely disregarding his hangover. "What DID you do then?"

Chris grinned. "I read her my poem, and we talked a bit. She's really nice." T.J. made a face. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" Chris asked softly.

"Of course I do, man! I'm the regular Don Juan of this century-you know that!"

"I know." He pondered. "But I mean REAL love, the kind that makes your heart stop. The kind that-"

"Alright, alright I get it poetry boy." Chris sighed and lay back down.

"That's how I feel." He admitted almost inaudibly.

"After one night?" T.J. asked skeptically.

Chris turned on the television. "How long does it take for the flower to love sunlight?" He pondered.

"Cut the crap, Shakespeare." T.J. said sternly. "Number one rule of life-NEVER fall in love with a hooker...it's the worst move you can make."

Chris frowned. "Why is that?" He asked stupidly.

"Dude, she's a whore! She has sex with two million people a year! You can't have a serious relationship with someone like that. Sure, you can screw around, but I know you man, and you're not like that."

Chris frowned more deeply, displeased with what he was hearing, although it was the truth. He had been so far into the clouds he hadn't had a chance to take a reality check.

"But she's different." He insisted. T.J. shook his head.

"I won't stop you, but you're getting married soon to a FINE piece of meat, I don't see what you need a slut for."

Chris scowled, but got up off the couch and walked to the door. "I gotta go. See ya." He closed the door quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

When Chris got home, his fiancée met him at the door with a pouty expression on her face. Before he would even ask what was wrong, she yelled shrilly, "_Sarah_ called!" She spat. He felt his heart skip a beat.

"S-she did?"

"Yes. She said you left your SHIRT at the RED WINDMILL and she's coming now to return it." Her voice had reached such a high pitch that it made him cringe. "What were you doing at the Windmill? That's where people have SEX! Was hooters all a big lie?"

Chris lowered his eyes and sighed. "My party was at the Red Windmill." He admitted.

"And Sarah's a hooker?"

"And Sarah's a hooker." He confirmed.

"Did you sleep with her?" She squeaked, placing her hands firmly on her hips.

Chris looked her in the face and said, "No." He had been brought up to tell the truth, no matter what the situation and his voice did not falter.

"Well, why not!" She huffed, angrily stuffing her hair behind her ears. Chris was taken aback by this question, and almost found himself wondering the same question.

"I didn't think it was right." He replied softly, making his way to the answering machine.

"Her message is still there." She said with a bit less hostility.

"Thank you." He replied, hanging his coat in the closet.

"Why do you have to be so goddamn virtuous?"

Chris grinned halfheartedly as she marched upstairs, to no doubt talk for hours on end with her friends on the telephone. When she was out of earshot, Chris pressed the 'play' button on the answering machine.

"You have 1 new message." The monotone recorded voice chanted, cutting the silence in the air.

"Hey Chris, its Sarah from the Red Windmill. Um, I still have your shirt from last night...I'm coming to drop it off. If you're not home, I'll just leave it in the mailbox. Ok? Bye!"

There was a click when she was finished, and the message machine announced, "End of all messages." Chris sank down onto the couch beside the phone and rested his head in his hand, his elbow propped up by the couch arm. A few minutes later, he heard a car door slam and bolted up to look out the window. A car was parked in front of his house, and Sarah emerged from behind it.

Chris walked and hid behind the door, wondering what he would say to her. He bit his tongue, knowing he would most likely make a fool of himself. The doorbell rang, making him jump suddenly; biting down on his tongue so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He swore loudly and stuck his tongue out, examining it. The doorbell rang again, and then he heard the mailbox open and knew he should do something...she was leaving! He swung the door open, making her spin around. Chris shoved his bleeding tongue into his mouth and forced a smile.

She walked quickly back towards him, smiling. She was, if possible, more beautiful than before. Her hair went sans glitter and was put up into a messy bun, two ornate chopsticks sticking out from its center. She was wearing a low cut lacy camisole, accompanied by a tweed blazer, low cut jeans, and very uncomfortable looking black stilettos that put her feet into a graceful arc.

"You're home!" She exclaimed, sounding surprised.

"Yeth." He said, trying not to use his injured tongue, but sounding like an idiot.

"What did you say?" She asked, obviously confused.

"I thaid-oh thit!" He cursed, sticking out his tongue and showing her. She laughed and flipped her hair back.

"I see you hurt your tongue." She giggled. "How'd that happen?" Chris began opening his mouth to lisp out and answer. "Wait, never mind, don't answer that." She blurted, rescuing him from a new wave of embarrassment. He smiled, leaning back against the door. "I'll see you sometime." She said, heading back to the car. She opened the door, winked, and got in gracefully, closing it with a small click.

The second her car was out of sight, the door he was leaning against gave way and swung back, causing him to stumble and fall unceremoniously onto the floor of his entryway. He was greeted by the daunting, plastic face of his fiancée, finally out of her bedroom.

"Is the phone free?" He asked politely, completely ignoring her icy stare. His tongue didn't hurt anymore, and he found his awkward position on the floor suddenly quite comfortable.

"You like her, don't you?" She shrieked. Chris winced, glancing at the windows to see if she had broken them.

"For the last time Vanessa," He yelled, finally able to say her name without gagging, "there is nothing going on between me and that woman!" There was an awkward silence that followed. Vanessa huffed quietly into the kitchen and Chris cursed under his breath for allowing himself to move in with her.

He pulled himself up from the floor and traipsed upstairs to his typewriter. Vanessa had always pestered him to use the brand new flat screen computer she had bought, but he found it to be confusing and untrustworthy. Once seated, he restocked the paper in the machine and began to type.

That whole week began with one night...sleepless nights and days of steady writing. And after one tireless week, the whole play was written.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Red Windmill**

**Chapter 5**

Christopher James was backstage at the new playhouse when his cell phone rang. He had been dreading this call all day, to say the least about his situation. Since they had started rehearsing at the new playhouse Harry Z. Idler had donned "The Cherub Theatre"; the date of the opening night had changed numerous times. Now, it was only about three weeks away…the exact day of his wedding. The person on the other end of the call was no doubt Vanessa, returning the urgent call he had placed earlier that day.

The prospect of finishing the production in three weeks was impossible enough, but now there was also the conflict of his big day. He figured since Vanessa had picked three days for the wedding and booked the caterer on all three so Chris could pick it himself, she would have no problem moving it up a month to the last date on her list.

"That's your phone, I think." A member of the stage crew pointed out.

"Thanks." Chris said, although he knew it had been his phone that was ringing. As much as he didn't want to pick up, he didn't want the call to go into voicemail, otherwise he would never be able to get it again. Ever since Vanessa had bought him the best phone money could buy, he had been utterly afraid of it. The manual for the phone itself was over 100 pages long, and that was at least 50 too many.

"Hello?" He asked timidly, his heart pounding.

"Hey babe, it's me." Came Vanessa's shrill voice from the other end. From the sound of it, she was most likely at an expensive shopping boutique with her friends. This relieved him a bit; at least she was probably in a good mood from spending excessive amounts of money on whatever she wanted.

"Oh hi. I called before because I wanted to talk to you about the wedding date. I know you haven't sent out the invites yet, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind changing the date to next month." He blurted it all out quickly, then instantly regretted it. He braced himself for the screaming, but it didn't come.

"Alright. Sounds fine." She sounded a bit upset, but Chris chose to ignore it.

"Thank you so much." He said, unable to hide his relief. "Do you want to come to the opening night of the show? It's on the date we had originally for the wedding. I promise you, it will be a night you'll never forget. I even got you a free ticket." He was beaming now. This was the first time in his life he was actually happy around her.

"I don't know." She didn't even sound skeptical. "Plays aren't my thing, you know?" His smile dropped a bit.

"I know, but I just thought since I wrote it…you might like to watch it or something." He heard her sigh.

"Do I have to?" She asked blatantly. He frowned.

"Well, no, of course you don't _have_ to, I just thought…oh well, it doesn't matter. Talk to you later, ok?"

"Sure babe…I got us reservations for this real nice place in town so be home by eight ok?" Then she hung up. Chris closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, frustrated.

"Ok everyone, take a breather." Harry's voice carried through the whole theater and backstage. Within seconds Sarah was approaching him with a smile. One thing Chris had also noticed with the progression of the show was that he found himself steadily falling more and more in love with Sarah. He tried to stop himself, oh god did he try, but he just couldn't.

"Hey." He said softly, smiling at her. She coughed lightly and wiped her forehead. "Tough rehearsal?"

"Like you wouldn't imagine. I'm glad I got over that nasty flu in time, otherwise Harry would have needed to use an understudy!" She sat down on a bench nearby, beckoning Chris to sit beside her. "Oh god, am I tired." She murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. Chris shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. It wasn't every day he found a gorgeous hooker resting her head on him, much less a gorgeous hooker that he happened to be in love with.

With a tiny sigh, Sarah slid her head down into his lap and curled her legs up to meet her chest. Before he could stop himself, Chris found that his hand was calmly stroking her hair. For a split second, it seemed as if time itself had stopped. For just that moment, maybe it was just them…no Vanessa, no play…just the two of them, alone-but together.

Harry's booming voice broke Chris's fantasy with a painful blast.

"Alright everyone! Break's over!" Chris looked down at Sarah, expecting her to get up and walk away, but she didn't stir. He reached down and shook her lightly, but still nothing. Finally he simply lifted her up and brought her over to Harry, who was clad, instead of his usual pink Armani, in a large turban and a shimmering red robe, adorned with many gold trimmings and large jewelry.

"I think she's asleep Harry. Should I take her back to her room? She just got over a terrible flu, maybe its best if we just let her rest for now." Harry looked disappointed but waved him off with a flick of his wrist.

Chris walked to her room quickly, careful not to wake her up, although that didn't seem possible at the moment. When they reached her room, he put her carefully down on the bed, and sat next to her for a few minutes, just staring. His whole life he had never been in love, and now it was all going so fast, and so wrong. His life wasn't supposed to turn out this way, betrothed at a young age, but in love with a hooker he met at his bachelor party. This kind of stuff only happened in those frustrating comedies, or in overly dramatic soap operas. If there was one thing Chris didn't want his life to be, it was a soap opera.

He had been so wrapped up in thought he had lost track of time. It was now six and the rehearsal had probably ended already. He had been in Sarah's room with her for an hour and hadn't even realized it. Just as he was about to get up and leave, Sarah began to stir. He made his way back to the bed and watched her wake silently.

"Chris?" She asked when her eyes opened.

"Yeah. It's me." He mentally kicked himself for not coming up with a smoother line.

"Is rehearsal over?"

He looked at his watch again. "It just ended I think."

"Oh Shit…Harry's going to be so mad! I promised him I wouldn't do this again!"

Chris gave her a puzzled look. "Again?" She sighed.

"Lately I've been really tired. I guess its part of getting over the flu. A few days ago at rehearsal I just kind of fell asleep and Harry said if I did it again he would throw me out of the show. I mean, sure, Harry's really dramatic, but he'll still be really mad at me." She buried her face in her hands, sitting at the foot of the bed.

Chris put his arm around her shoulder impulsively and squeezed her shoulder. She looked up; her mascara smudged a bit. He began to laugh.

"What?" She asked softly. "What is it?"

"You've got…uh…" He chuckled, bringing his finger up to her face and rubbing lightly underneath her eyes. He showed her his finger, black with runny mascara.

"Oh crap. Raccoon eyes." She laughed a little, wiping her eyes vigorously.

"You're eyes will look worse if you keep doing that." He told her softly, tugging her hands away from her eyes and holding them on her lap. She stared at him, her eyes wide and smudged with black, still wet from old tears.

Chris leaned closer, his heart beating furiously, his brain reeling. He didn't know what he was doing, or what had possessed him to do it, but he was doing it anyway. Slowly, Sarah leaned into him and pressed her lips against his.

Chris had always been against infidelity, and had never in his life thought of being unfaithful to anyone, but suddenly something changed. As hard as he tried, he couldn't stop. And it almost didn't matter. After all, this _was_ the woman he was in love with, so he saw nothing wrong.

Although old enough to know about life, he was too young for the real world, it seemed. Love, he believed, was the greatest thing on earth, and love could solve anything. T.J. had been right in saying Chris's naivete was painful.

As nervous and hesitant as he was, Chris managed to slide them both under the covers and completely forget about his dinner reservations…and everything else that had ever been on his mind.


End file.
